The Grove
by Winter Oracle
Summary: Prelude to main story "I Shall Kill the Spare" and other related works. This is the background about The Grove and the meaning it holds to Cedric and Harry. Really shouldn't be read alone but if your looking for a one shot it does still makes sense without reading the other works.


The Grove is a very special place

A place of silence,

A place of love,

A place where words are unnecessary,

A place of true magic.

Magic that has nothing at all to do with spells or runes or potions, nor any other magic of wizards, this is a magic of nature, of beauty, truer than any created and wielded by man.

A magic that can't truly be explained,

Nor understood,

Just admired, and loved.

Appreciated.

The Grove's trees are mighty and tall the trunks thick and branches overlayed again and again as if to shield the ground from even Apollos keen eye.

Within the ground is carpeted by leaves that have fallen from its branches and moss that have grown in the safety of its walls.

There is no light of the sky within the Grove. Not the eyes of Apollo nor the slightest touch of his sister.

But still the grove glows bright, it's moss glowing, shining, the leaves from above reflecting it right back.

Its beautiful,

Ethereal.

Without and all around, vines grow upward clinging to the trees tangling,

Writhing,

Climbing,

Snaking Through the branches then falling till it ties to the ground once more.

Like armor.

But what should this grove protect?

To whom might she give her beauty?

For a very long time the answer was no one.

The grove had no children to visit her, to play in her branches,

No seedlings to rest in her bosom,

But she never has so she knows not the pain of without.

Until Olivia.

Olivia was a magic girl no much more than a single decade in age. She wore colors of black and blue and brought to her bosom books,

The Grove grew to adore the stories in the books,

And more than that,

The Grove adored Olivia.

For less than a decade she came. Not on the every switch of Apollo to Artemis not even, at times, the full changes of her skin.

But still she came and every book she brought was left and every story she told was kept in the heart of the Grove.

Then the time of Olivia passed.

The grove felt so broken and sorrowed that even her branches weeped and never again did a magic one or any other pierce her living armor.

For years,

And years,

Many again the time of Olivia she hid.

Until came the Lost One.

The Lost One is a young magic boy,

He was alone but not just in the here and now, but in the on and beyond, in his heart.

The boy had ni a home

Nor had the boy a family

The boy held little trust for others, for anything.

And to the young lost one the grove opened.

Beneath her branches the lost one found home.

Within her Earthen Armor the boy finally learned to feel safe.

The boy spoke to her but she never returned the gesture.

He told her of his life of his much to many sorrows and his much to few delights.

The lost one was alone on this earth, lost is the bosom of his mother, lost is the embrace of father. and from the rest of all he was given not but contempt.

Abused, by what should have been his own.

Pillaged,

Burned,

And left with only a lightning scar.

Left alone,

And lost.

His name is Harry.

He comes more than did Olivia,

Neigh on the turn from Apollo to Artemis.

And he would tell the Grove of his time beyond her walls.

And she would gift to him the treasures of Olivia,

The books and their stories.

And to her he read them,

And to her he gifted more.

Stories that Olivia did not give her.

Less than half a decade by the start of the time of the lost one

Harry brought to her bosom another wizard boy.

The new boy was taller then the lost one.

His hair different to Harry's or even Olivia's,

He was Older,

Newer.

Almost the Grove refuses him entry, but still she allows them through.

They touch and color.

Move apart but still drawn together.

In low tones they speak to each other,

Spoke of their hearts and how they beat in time.

How their eyes long for the sight of each other,

How their ears strain for the tone of the other's voice,

The lost one spoke a new word.

"Love"

And quick as a rabbit but soft as it's fur the tall one to the lost one into his arms and lip to lip they press.

Heart to heart they connect.

The lost one, much to the anger of the grove, has had much taken from him.

The lost one knows hardly receive.

.

.

.

But the Tall One does not take.

The Tall One does not pillage or push or abuse.

Only gives:

Comfert,

Love,

Life,

His own heart.

And the Grove is happy.

Her little Lost One is healing,

The Tall One His Physician.

The lost one was not found,

No.

He had no home or safety outside the grove.

Still Stumbling,

And Pillaged,

Burned,

Scarred.

But,

For the first time,

Her lost one is looking.

So the Grove is happy.

And Perhaps someday,

Someday past the time of the Lost One,

Past his time of the Magic Grove,

Someday,

The Lost One would be happy too.


End file.
